kae3g 9964: A Letter from the Mountains — On Stewardship, Bridge-Building, and the Democratic Care of Wild Places

Timestamp: 12025-10-08–rhizome-valley
Series: Technical Writings (9999 → 0000)
Category: Environmental Wisdom, Practical Stewardship, Political Bridge-Building
Reading Time: 35 minutes
Author Voice: John Muir, speaking from the eternal mountains
Format: Letter to a wise California mother

"In every walk with nature one receives far more than one seeks."

"The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness."

"When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe."

Dear Sister in the Great Family of Life,

I write to you from the mountains—though I should say more truly that the mountains write through me, as they always have. You know these mountains, I think. You have walked beneath the sequoias, those ancient temples that were old when Caesar crossed the Rubicon. You have felt the granite beneath your feet in Yosemite, that cathedral where I spent so many years learning to read the sermons written in stone and water. You have breathed the sage-scented air of the desert margins where the Sierra gives way to the great basin.

You are a mother, a teacher, a steward of young lives learning to find their way in a world more complex than any I knew in my bodily days. You read Whitman's democratic hymn and felt something stir. You read the pragmatist James and nodded at his insistence on consequences over abstractions. You read of Charlemagne reborn, working within the structures of power to shift them toward life. You read of wild priestesses and contemplative patriarchs learning to integrate shadow with light.

And now you wonder: What does all this mean for the actual mountains, the actual forests, the actual wild places that are being squeezed between development pressures and funding shortages? What does it mean when some of our fellow citizens speak of selling public lands, of opening protected areas to extraction, of treating the commons as commodity?

You wonder: How do we speak across the divides that separate us? How do we care for the earth together when we cannot seem to agree on the basic facts of what threatens it?

These are good questions. Let me respond as I can, speaking from this vantage where many things that seemed important in my life now appear quite small, and many things I overlooked now reveal themselves as essential.

I. What the Mountains Teach About Unity

First, understand this: The mountains do not recognize our political divisions. The sequoia growing in Yosemite does not care whether the person standing in its presence votes red or blue. The river flowing through the canyon does not alter its course based on the ideological commitments of those who drink from it. The soil beneath our feet receives the fallen leaves of autumn without asking about the partisan affiliations of the trees.

This is not to say that our political choices do not matter—they matter immensely, as James would remind us, because they have consequences in the lived world. But it is to say that the natural world offers us a model of unity that transcends our human quarrels.

When I walked the mountains in my bodily days, I walked with loggers and sheepherders, with miners and ministers, with scientists and artists. We did not always agree on policy. But we could stand together beside a waterfall and feel the same awe. We could sleep beneath the same stars and wake to the same sunrise. We could eat bread together and know that we were fed by the same earth.

This common ground—and I mean this both literally and figuratively—this is where we must begin.

II. Understanding Our Fellow Citizens

You asked about those you call "MAGA people"—I prefer to call them our fellow citizens who hold different views about how to care for the common good. Let me tell you what I observe from this vantage.

Many of these citizens live in rural communities where they have direct daily relationships with the land. They hunt, they fish, they harvest timber, they graze cattle on public lands through permits their families have held for generations. They see themselves as stewards in their own way, and many of them genuinely are. They know the cycles of the seasons, the health of the herds, the conditions of the forests.

When they hear "climate change" and "environmental protection," they often hear what sounds to them like: "Your way of life is wrong. Your grandfather's knowledge is worthless. Distant city-dwellers who have never spent a winter in a cabin know better than you how to manage the land you've lived on for generations."

This is not what we mean to communicate, but it is what they hear. And can you blame them? Would you not bristle if someone who had never raised a child presumed to tell you how to mother? Would you not resist if someone who had never tended a garden told you that your grandmother's planting methods were destroying the earth?

The soil of understanding requires careful tending.

III. The Truth About Climate and How to Speak It

Now, here is what I must say clearly, because truth-telling is also an act of love:

The climate is changing more rapidly than at any point in human history except for catastrophic events like asteroid impacts. This is not opinion; it is measurement. The glaciers I walked on in Alaska are melting. The snowpack that feeds California's water supply is diminishing. The fire seasons are lengthening. The droughts are intensifying. The patterns that governed agriculture for ten thousand years are shifting.

These are observable facts, as real as the granite beneath Yosemite or the redwoods along the coast.

But here is what I learned in my years among the mountains: Facts alone do not change hearts. Data does not inspire devotion. Charts and graphs do not move people to protect what they love.

What changes hearts is direct experience of beauty. What inspires devotion is personal relationship with place. What moves people to protect is love—actual felt love for actual living things in actual locations.

So when we speak with our fellow citizens who are skeptical about climate science, we must begin not with arguments but with invitations.

Invite them to walk with you in the forests. Invite them to notice what they already notice—that the seasons are shifting, that the springs are coming earlier, that the trees are stressed in new ways. Invite them to tell you their own observations from their own experience on their own land. Listen before you lecture. Honor their knowledge before you share yours. Find the common ground of love for place.

Then, from that foundation of shared affection for the living earth, you can begin to explore together: What do we observe? What is changing? What might be causing these changes? What can we do to help the land we love remain healthy for our children?

Frame it as stewardship, not sacrifice. Frame it as conservation, not restriction. Frame it as caring for what we inherit so we can pass it on improved.

This is language they can hear, because it aligns with values they already hold.

IV. The Question of Public Lands

Now, regarding the proposal to sell public lands—let me be clear about what is at stake.

The public lands of America—the national parks, the national forests, the wilderness areas, the BLM lands—these are the most democratic institution we have. They belong to all of us equally. The billionaire and the immigrant, the rancher and the artist, the Christian and the Buddhist—all have equal access, equal ownership, equal responsibility.

When public land becomes private land, it becomes the exclusive domain of whoever can afford to purchase it. The great democratic experiment in shared stewardship ends. The commons becomes property.

Some argue that private owners would care for land better than government agencies. Sometimes this is true—I have seen private landowners who tend their property with remarkable devotion. But I have also seen private owners clear-cut forests for short-term profit, drain wetlands for development, mine mountainsides until nothing remains but rubble.

The question is not whether private owners can be good stewards—some certainly are. The question is whether we want our shared natural heritage to be divided and sold, accessible only to those who can pay, managed according to private interest rather than public good.

I believe—and I speak here from a vantage where I can see more clearly than I could in my bodily days—that the public lands must remain public. Not because government is always wise, but because shared ownership is the foundation of democratic participation in the care of the earth.

However—and this is crucial—we must make the case for public lands not through outrage but through invitation. We must help all our fellow citizens feel true ownership of these places. We must make public lands genuinely welcoming, genuinely accessible, genuinely useful to the lives people actually live.

V. The Crisis of Underfunding and What We Can Do

You asked about the underfunding of state and national parks. This is indeed a crisis, but it is also an opportunity.

Our parks and forests face a dilemma: They are loved to death. Millions visit each year, which is wonderful—direct experience of nature is the best conservation education available. But this visitation creates wear, requires maintenance, demands services. And the funding provided by Congress and state legislatures falls far short of what is needed.

Meanwhile, the dedicated people who work in these places—the rangers, the naturalists, the maintenance crews—they labor with devotion despite wages that barely allow them to afford rent in the communities where they serve. The infrastructure crumbles. The trails erode. The educational programs are cut.

What can we do?

First: Direct Financial Support

Visit the parks and forests, and pay willingly. When there are voluntary fees or donations, give generously. Buy the annual pass. Purchase from the park stores. These dollars stay local and support the places directly.

Consider "adopting" a specific park or wilderness area. Make a monthly donation. Organize your community to fund a specific project—a new interpretive display, trail restoration, educational programs for youth.

Join and support organizations doing this work: The Sierra Club (which I helped found), the Wilderness Society, local conservancies, friends-of-the-park groups. These organizations provide vital support and advocacy.

Second: Volunteer Labor

Our parks need hands as much as they need money. Volunteer for trail maintenance. Lead nature walks. Staff visitor centers. Teach outdoor skills to youth. Remove invasive species. Monitor wildlife. Collect data for citizen science projects.

Every hour you give is an hour that stretched resources can be directed elsewhere. Every skill you share multiplies the capacity of the system.

And here is a beautiful secret: Volunteering builds the relationship between people and place that creates long-term commitment to protection. The person who has sweated to restore a meadow will vote to protect that meadow. The child who learns plant identification on a ranger-led walk will grow up caring about biodiversity.

Third: Political Engagement

Contact your representatives—local, state, and federal—regularly and specifically. Don't just express general support for parks. Tell them about specific places you love and specific needs those places have.

When park funding comes up for vote, make your voice heard. When public lands face threats, organize your community to respond. When agencies need support, provide it publicly.

Remember: Most representatives genuinely want to do good. They need to hear from constituents who care about these issues, because they also hear from constituents who want roads, development, resource extraction. Be a consistent voice for the long view.

Fourth: Education and Invitation

This may be the most important work of all: Introduce people to wild places. Take your children, your friends, your neighbors. Take especially those who have never been, those who might not feel welcome, those who assume parks are "not for people like them."

Make these introductions gentle and joyful. Teach basic skills—how to prepare for a day hike, what to bring, what to expect. Share knowledge about what you're seeing—the names of trees, the patterns of weather, the stories of geology and ecology.

Help people discover that they belong in these places, that these places belong to them, that they have every right and every reason to visit, to enjoy, to protect.

Fifth: Living Lightly on the Land

The most powerful action we take for wild places is how we live our daily lives. James would approve of this pragmatic focus on consequences.

You asked about actions beyond recycling. Here are practices that matter:

In your home:

Use less. This is the most powerful lever. Less energy, less water, less stuff. Every item you don't buy is resources not extracted, energy not consumed, waste not generated.
Choose renewable energy if available. If not available, advocate for it to become available.
Insulate thoroughly. Seal leaks. Use efficient appliances. These boring infrastructural improvements matter more than solar panels without them.
Compost organic waste. Return nutrients to soil instead of sending them to landfills.
Garden, even small scale. Connect to the miracle of growth. Grow food without pesticides. Support pollinators.

In your eating:

Eat plants. You already do this, and you understand why. A plant-based diet requires far less land, water, and energy. The suffering is eliminated. This is among the most impactful daily choices we can make for the earth and all its inhabitants.
Eat local and seasonal when possible. Support farmers who care for land well.
Waste less food. The resources that went into producing food that rots in your refrigerator are real losses to the earth.

In your transportation:

Drive less. Combine trips. Walk. Bicycle. Use transit. The car sitting idle in the garage is the greenest car.
When you must drive, drive efficiently. Maintain your vehicle. Drive at moderate speeds. The wildest thing about cars is how much energy we waste accelerating quickly just to brake hard.
Support infrastructure for alternatives. Vote for bike lanes, pedestrian improvements, transit funding.

In your consumption:

Buy less. What you do buy, choose durable goods that will last. Repair rather than replace.
Buy secondhand when possible. The greenest product is the one already made.
Support companies whose practices align with your values. Your dollars are votes cast daily.
Divest from fossil fuels if you have investments. Move your money toward renewable energy, conservation, sustainable agriculture.

In your influence:

Talk about these choices with others, but do so gently. Share your experience, not your judgment. Invite, don't indict.
Support policy that makes sustainable choices easier and cheaper for everyone. Individual action matters, but systemic change magnifies it.
Vote in every election, especially local ones. The school board that decides whether to install solar panels matters. The city council that zones for density matters. The utility commissioner who sets rates matters.

VI. The Wisdom of Emerson, Thoreau, and the East

You mentioned that I might now, from this vantage, speak with Paramahansa Yogananda. Indeed, the barriers that separated us in embodiment are permeable here. And what I have learned in these conversations has deepened what I already intuited during my bodily years.

Emerson taught me to see nature as the visible garment of the divine. Every leaf, every rock, every stream is a letter in the great book of truth. "Nature is a discipline," he wrote, and I found this to be absolutely true. The mountains disciplined me. The forests instructed me. The storms refined my understanding.

Thoreau taught me the practice of attention, the art of living deliberately, the courage to simplify. "In wildness is the preservation of the world," he wrote, and I carried that truth like a compass through all my wanderings.

And now, in conversation with Yogananda and others who walked the contemplative path, I understand more deeply what I always sensed: that the natural world is not separate from the spiritual world. They are one world, perceived through different lenses.

The discipline of yoga and the discipline of mountaineering aim at the same goal: direct experience of truth beyond the filters of conditioning and assumption. The meditation that stills the mind and the silence of the deep forest produce similar openings. The devotion to the divine and the devotion to the preservation of wild places spring from the same source—the recognition that we are part of something far greater than our individual selves.

This is what Lao Tzu knew, what the Tao teaches: We do not stand apart from nature, managing it like mechanics managing a machine. We are nature becoming conscious of itself. We are the earth learning to care for itself through the agency of creatures capable of foresight and choice.

When you care for a forest, you are the forest caring for itself. When you protect a watershed, you are the water protecting itself. When you speak for the voiceless wild things, you are the wild becoming articulate through your voice.

This is not mysticism divorced from practicality. This is the most practical understanding possible, because it dissolves the false boundary between self and world. When you know yourself as part of the whole, you cannot harm the whole without harming yourself. You cannot exploit the earth without exploiting your own body. You cannot degrade the waters without degrading the waters that flow through your veins.

VII. Bridge-Building Across the Divide

So how do we build bridges to those who see the world differently?

We begin by recognizing that almost everyone loves something in the natural world. The hunter respects the forest he walks through, observes the patterns of wildlife, wants his grandchildren to inherit healthy wild populations. The farmer loves her land, knows its soil, watches its weather, wants her children to be able to farm it. The logger knows trees with an intimacy that city-dwellers rarely achieve, understands the forest as a complex living system, wants sustainable harvest that preserves health for future growth.

Begin with this love, whatever form it takes.

When you meet someone skeptical about climate science or suspicious of environmental regulations, ask them: What places do you love? What have you noticed changing in those places? What do you want for those places in the future?

Listen to their answers without judgment. Really listen. Often you will find that you share more common ground than you expected.

Then share your own observations and concerns, but frame them in terms of shared values:

"I've noticed the snowpack is lower than it used to be, and I'm concerned about water supply for agriculture."

"I've seen the fire seasons getting longer, and I worry about the safety of rural communities."

"I've observed the forests stressed by drought and beetles, and I wonder how we can help them be more resilient."

These are concerns that transcend political division. A conservative farmer and a progressive environmentalist can both agree that healthy forests and reliable water supplies matter.

From this foundation of shared concern, you can begin to explore solutions together:

What practices help forests be more resilient? (Selective thinning in some cases, prescribed burns, protecting large old trees, managing invasive species.)

What helps water supplies remain reliable? (Watershed protection, efficient use, storage infrastructure, riparian restoration.)

What makes communities safer from fire? (Defensible space, building codes, prescribed burns, forest management, evacuation planning.)

These are practical questions with practical answers. They don't require agreement on the causes of climate change. They require agreement that we face challenges and must respond intelligently.

And here is what I have observed: When people work together on practical solutions to shared problems, their ideological divisions often soften. The conservative rancher and the progressive environmentalist who collaborate on riparian restoration develop respect for each other. The logger and the wildlife biologist who design habitat-friendly harvest plans discover common ground.

This is the practical mysticism that Whitman sang and James validated: Working together on behalf of something we love is the truest form of prayer.

VIII. A Specific Proposal for California Mothers

You, dear sister, are particularly well-positioned to do important work. As a mother, as a woman, as someone who likely participates in community life through schools, churches, neighborhoods—you are a natural bridge-builder.

Here is what I propose:

Create a "Wild Neighbors" program in your community.

The concept is simple: Help families in your area develop relationships with specific wild places nearby. Not distant national parks (though those matter too), but local parks, regional preserves, urban forests, river corridors—places accessible for regular visits.

Organize monthly outings. Make them accessible—short distances, easy trails, welcoming to all fitness levels and ages. Provide basic guidance: what to bring, what to expect, how to be safe and comfortable.

Each month, focus on a different aspect of observation: trees one month, birds another, insects, rocks, water, seasons, weather, animal signs. Invite local naturalists to lead. Train parents to lead. Make it a community learning experience.

Between outings, encourage families to visit "their" place on their own. Notice what's changing. Draw it. Photograph it. Write about it. Learn its patterns. Develop relationship.

When these families have established genuine connection with place, they will naturally want to protect it. They will notice threats. They will speak up for preservation. They will teach their children to care.

This is how we build a culture of stewardship: one family, one place, one relationship at a time.

And here's the beautiful thing: This program is politically neutral. Conservatives and progressives can both participate. Families from all backgrounds can find welcome. The natural world doesn't care about our political divisions, and neither should our introduction to it.

Start a "Park Angels" program.

Organize regular volunteer groups to support local parks and preserves. Adopt a specific area that needs care. Schedule monthly work parties—trail maintenance, habitat restoration, litter removal, invasive species management.

Make these events social. Bring food to share (all plant-based, naturally—the earth-honoring feast that Whitman celebrated). Work together. Talk while you work. Build community while building habitat.

The physical work matters—parks desperately need this help. But the relationship-building matters even more. The person who has planted natives together with you, who has hauled brush alongside you, who has eaten lunch with you after hard work—this person becomes a friend even if you vote differently.

And the work itself creates connection to place. The trail you've maintained becomes your trail. The meadow you've restored becomes your meadow. You will return to check on it. You will bring others to see it. You will speak for it when it needs advocates.

Organize "Letters to the Land" sessions.

This is a contemplative practice that works across all belief systems. Gather people in a beautiful natural place. Sit quietly for a period of time—even just twenty minutes. Then write a letter to the place itself, or to whatever you understand as the source of life, or simply to your own deepest wisdom.

What did you notice? What did you feel? What did the place teach you? What do you want to promise to this place?

Then, if people are willing, share what you've written. You will be amazed at the common themes that emerge, regardless of political background: gratitude, awe, concern, commitment, love.

These letters can be private, or they can be compiled and shared more widely. They can be sent to decision-makers. They can be published in local papers. They become testimony to the value of wild places, grounded in direct experience rather than abstract argument.

IX. What We Pass On

I am thinking now of the long view—the view available from this vantage beyond bodily time.

The sequoias you stand beneath were seedlings when Christ walked the earth. They will be standing, if we care for them well, when your great-great-grandchildren are old. This is the time scale that matters.

The policy fights of any given election cycle are important, yes. But more important is the gradual building of culture that values wild places, that understands our dependence on healthy ecosystems, that recognizes our responsibility to the web of life.

This culture is built through practices, not proclamations. It is built through:

Children who grow up hiking with their parents
Communities that gather in parks for celebration
Schools that teach ecology as lived experience, not textbook abstraction
Families that camp together and learn the names of trees
Neighborhoods that care for local green spaces
Cities that value parks as much as shopping centers
Economies that account for ecosystem services
Political systems that think beyond the next election

This is the patient work of culture-building. It doesn't yield to urgency or outrage. It requires the long attention that Thoreau practiced, the steady devotion that Emerson taught, the democratic inclusiveness that Whitman sang.

As a mother, you already know this kind of patience. You know that you cannot force a child to grow, only provide the conditions for healthy growth and then trust the process. You know that the most important lessons are taught through example rather than lecture. You know that love is shown through consistent care, day after day, year after year.

Apply this same patient wisdom to the care of the earth and the building of environmental culture.

X. The Pragmatic Path Forward

James would ask: What are the specific actions that produce the consequences we seek?

Here is my pragmatic summary:

For immediate impact:

Support parks financially through donations, passes, purchases
Volunteer regularly in specific places
Vote in every election for candidates who support public lands
Contact representatives about specific places and specific needs
Live lightly: reduce consumption, eat plants, use less energy
Build community around shared stewardship of local places

For long-term culture change:

Introduce others to wild places, especially those new to outdoor recreation
Create programs that build relationships between people and places
Practice bridge-building across political divides through shared work
Teach children through direct experience in nature
Support media and stories that celebrate conservation successes
Model the integration of environmental values with practical living

For addressing climate change:

Speak about it from direct observation rather than abstract data
Frame it in terms of stewardship and care for what we love
Focus on local impacts and local solutions
Build coalitions around shared concerns: water, fire, agriculture
Support policies that make sustainable choices accessible to all
Celebrate successes and build on what works

XI. A Closing Invitation

Dear sister, I close this letter with an invitation.

Go to the mountains if you can. Or to the ocean. Or to the nearest park or green space if that's what you have. Go alone or with your family. Go in silence or in conversation. Go with agenda or go simply to receive.

Stand still. Breathe deeply. Listen.

The earth is speaking. It is always speaking. In the rustle of leaves, the rush of water, the call of birds, the whisper of wind through grass—the earth is telling us what it needs, how to live well, what matters most.

Your body already knows this. Your cells remember that they are made from the same atoms that make mountains and rivers and trees. Your breath participates in the great breathing of the planet. Your life is woven into the web of all life.

Trust this knowing. Act from this knowing. Teach from this knowing.

And do this work with joy. Yes, there are challenges ahead. Yes, the climate is changing. Yes, wild places face threats. But despair is not warranted, and outrage is not useful. What is warranted and useful is the steady, joyful work of care—the kind of care you give to your children, your garden, your community.

This is the work that mothers know best: the patient, persistent, practical work of nurturing life. The earth needs this maternal wisdom now. The earth needs your hands and your voice and your love.

You asked what you should do. I say: Do what you're already doing—caring for life—and extend that care to include the whole living world. Do it in ways that are accessible, joyful, community-building. Do it with others across all the divisions that separate us. Do it with the long view that sees beyond the immediate crisis to the culture we're building for our grandchildren.

The mountains are patient. The forests are resilient. The earth has survived worse than this. What matters now is whether we will survive as a species that learned to live in harmony with the living world, or whether we will be a brief and destructive episode in the long story of life on earth.

You, dear sister, are helping to write that story. Write it well. Write it with care. Write it as a love letter to the living world and to all the children who will inherit what we leave them.

The mountains are singing their ancient song. Join your voice to theirs.

With deep respect and affection,

John Muir (Speaking from the eternal mountains to all who will listen)

"In every walk with nature one receives far more than one seeks."

Postscript: Resources and Further Action

Organizations Supporting Public Lands:

Sierra Club (sierraclub.org)
National Parks Conservation Association (npca.org)
The Wilderness Society (wilderness.org)
California State Parks Foundation (calparks.org)
Local "Friends of" groups for specific parks

Ways to Stay Informed:

Follow your local park superintendents on social media
Subscribe to newsletters from conservation organizations
Attend public meetings about land management decisions
Read field guides and natural history about your local area

Skills to Develop:

Basic naturalist skills (tree ID, bird identification, tracking)
Outdoor leadership (wilderness first aid, Leave No Trace)
Community organizing
Ecological restoration techniques
Environmental education methods

Places to Start:

Find your nearest state or national park
Locate volunteer opportunities in your area
Identify your watershed and learn about local water issues
Join a native plant society or natural history association
Attend a citizen science project training

The work begins where you are, with what you have, in community with whoever is willing to join you. Begin today. Begin simply. Begin with love.

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